


Crossroads

by AllisonDiamond



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Foggy Nelson, Bisexual Foggy Nelson, Daredevil Season One, Developing Relationship, Everyone Needs A Hug, Foggy Nelson Angst, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Friendship/Love, Gen or Pre-Slash, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, M/M, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Mutual Pining, POV Foggy Nelson, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8897806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonDiamond/pseuds/AllisonDiamond
Summary: As Foggy lies in the snow, possibly dying, he rethinks about his life, and begins to see Matt and the Devil in Hell's Kitchen as the same person. Takes place early S1. For Daredevil Secret Santa Gift Exchange 2016.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prompt_fills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Daredevil or any of its characters.

Foggy closes his eyes and waits for this all to end.

The cold air bites into him until his bare chest, fingers, exposed toes, face, and neck all become numb with _excruciating_ pain. He wants to _curl up_ so bad into himself for warmth, however tiny it may be, but the pain is _too_ much. Unbearable. Beyond anything he has ever experienced in his life.

How does this even happen to him? 

He’s Foggy Nelson; everyone’s best friend. 

But it’s Hell’s Kitchen; he should have known to be more careful, especially since the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen showed up. He hasn’t, though, taken any precautions, and now he’s paying for it, with _possibly_ his life. 

_So, huh, this is how he is going to die_ , he thinks and it makes him want to laugh so hard, but his frozen, bruised lips make it hard to do so. 

He isn't going to be saved.

The Devil in Hell’s Kitchen must really know how ‘big’ of a fan he is of him and what he does. He isn’t. Maybe he should have been a little more appreciative of the guy; he is actually helping people, even if his methods are a bit on the extreme’s side. 

And don’t let him get started on the ‘whole’ mask business — when will superheroes (is he even one?) learn that hiding behind a mask does not necessarily mean that people won’t get hurt? Because people always get hurt; people you love, you care about, because this is what you signed up when you put on that mask. You want to save people, well, you should be prepared for all the bad things that comes up with being an hero. Just talk to anyone who’d sacrificed everything … they will tell you how _terrifying_ it is to do some actual good.

It’s just _simple_ common sense.

Ah, he really should be a superhero’s mentor, if one of them would pay him any attention. Maybe the Hulk — nah, he _isn’t_ equipped to deal with that kind of rage, that level of strength, or that power. He could start off with the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen — sure, the guy is some secret ninja or something, but at least, he isn’t _some_ big and _powerful_ thing with superhuman’s strength. That’s more up his alley, anyways. He can handle that. Maybe get his ass handed to him, but at least, he wouldn’t have his parts scattered all over the place.

Yeah, he should do it. Might be fun actually. He could teach the guy a thing or two on how to have fun. He _is_ lots of fun to be around, really he is, just ask Matt and Karen. They get to bask in his awesomeness every day.

Who knows, he might even end up discovering who the man behind the mask is. That’d be awesome, discovering who the _masked_ vigilante is before anyone else. That’d be such a privilege, not that he’d want that in his life — seriously, he would be targeted. Wait, _hasn’t_ he already been targeted? And not for his work at Nelson and Murdock’s law firm — they don’t even have that much business to begin with — so, no way, did he mess with the ‘wrong’ crowd. Oh, well, that sucks, because he really has been looking forward to working with the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen in the last few seconds.

Hey, he still could make it out alive. Sure there’s a killer winter storm on right now, and all the roads are blocked, but someone out there has got to come out _in_ this deserted road for some _insane_ reasons and find him lying in this pile of snow. He’d be insanely grateful; he’d get down on his knees and bow before them if they rescue him. 

Christmas is the season of giving and receiving, after all, right? Foggy sure thinks so.

Who is he fooling? He’s definitely going to die here. So much for his wishful thinking. No one is coming out in this storm. It’s too _cold_ and _harsh_ for that. Only a fool would step out of cuddling under a big, thick, soft blanket under the fireplace for this wet, slippery, heavy snowstorm of the century. Who’d known that Global Warming _would_ be such a bitch?

Of course, he doesn’t want to die; that’s be like him saying no to cupcakes, and god knows, how much he loves cupcakes. Plus, there’s still so much he has to do, like professing his undying love for Matt under the city lights. Okay, he isn’t a big sap like that, but it’d actually fun to do, to see Matt laughing like old times. Matt has been far more distance, busy, and just a brooding jerk lately, and it kills Foggy to see his best friend, the love of his life, his wingman, his dude, looking so _defeated_ and _broken_.

Foggy cannot fix Matt, though, even if he wants to, because there is no way he is _actually_ going to make it out of this alive. If by some miracle, he actually makes it out of _this_ , alive and in one piece, which is hard to imagine, with all the pain he’s experiencing, he’s _honestly_ going to _tell_ Matt how he feels. And if he gets rejected, he can say with absolute certainty that he has been through _worse_.

Huh, will you look at that, he is probably going through something worse than Matt and Karen have ever went through. That’s something _alright_ since they both have been through crap. Like dragged back and forth though hell. Now, Foggy is going to join them — never in a million’s lives, he expects to actually go through that _someday_ , but his expectations have certainly surpassed him.

Or not since he’s most likely going to die. Oh, what Christmas’s joy!

Gosh, only if someone would come because he knows it isn’t long before his body gives him on him.

He’s starting to become weaker and weaker until sleep is one short step away from his mind. Foggy isn’t giving in, not yet, anyway. He still wants to live. There’s just so much for him to — he’s _too_ young to die — and he’s barely past thirty. His life is just getting _started_.

Even though, it’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes closed without falling asleep. He knows he shouldn’t fall asleep, but he can’t keep this up. It’s not going to make a difference, anyway— it _doesn’t_ look like it would — he is going to die anyway. Maybe it’s better to just shut his eyes _permanently_ but he _really_ doesn’t want to die. 

_Definitely not like this._

But he doesn’t have a choice, now, does he? The universe certainly _sure_ doesn’t think so.

So, he closes his eyes (really this time!) before he literally freezes to death. 

_Anything to take this burning pain away_ , he thinks, _a_ nd if that means not living to see Matt again,or do of the wonderful things he plans to do, well, what can he do? 

_“_ Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, almost ripping his lips open by uttering a word, and it hurts a thousand times more than the pain he’s experiencing right now and that _hurts_ like a bitch. “I love you, not that you’d ever know.” 

And with that, he heads into sweet slumber, but then rough hands start shaking him roughly, of course. Stereotype, much!

“Foggy, hey, stay with me!”

Huh, that sounds an awful lot like Matt, well, if his voice is a little edgier, huskier, and thicker. Come to think about it, it sounds a lot like the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen. Oh, his brain is so playing tricks on him. 

Because there _is_ no way Matt or the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen would ever come to save him. He _hasn’t_ seen Matt for weeks since Matt _decides_ that spending time with himself is _so much_ better than hanging with his best friend in the whole wide world. So, to think, Matt would rescue him is laughable.

And the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen, he probably has big badies to take down. Foggy _unfortunately_ doesn’t fall under that category.

So, he’s just hearing things — _sweet music of salvation to his ears, though; sweet music, indeed_ — things that _will not_ and _cannot_ happen. Now, don’t get him wrong, he’d be the first one to take the train to life, if it comes, but it doesn’t look like it’s coming anytime soon.

Oh, he really should _like_ stop thinking so hard. It _isn’t_ helping at him at _all_.

His eyelids feel so heavy and burn like hell’s fire — he has to go to sleep, like _right_ now. No more brain’s tricks or awesomely hopeful thoughts for him.

“Foggy,” the voice gets louder than it is possible when the wind is blowing so hard that it can knock a rooftop over. But then again, mind’s tricks can do to a guy. Especially since it sounds so much like Matt with a rougher, thicker voice, or the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen; pick your choice “Stay with me. Please d _on’t_ fall asleep on me.”

The voice almost breaks down at the end. Isn’t that something?

He _hurts_ too much to listen to his _conscience_ , which is weird, because he thinks it’d sound a lot cooler than this voice. Like sexy-hot, lose all your senses, kind of hot. Too bad, his conscience is Matt with a rough voice, and not the rough kind of voice, that makes you want to get naughty and dirty.

He actually prefer Matt’s voice: its softness, its pain, its broken edges, its smoothness, and most of all, the huskiness it sometimes has, mostly when Matt _is_ flirting with a hot chick.

“Foggy!”

There _is_ that voice again. It’s actually getting a lot of demanding and not in the good way. His conscience sucks big time!

“Foggy, please stay with me!” Foggy hears footsteps stepping into the snow making crunchy sounds. “I’m going to lift you up, okay?”

He feels strong hands gently _trying_ to pull off out of the snow, but he is kind of stuck, so, of course, that doesn't work. Duh. Common sense, man, got to love some common sense.

And, oh, man, his conscience really wants to give him hope now out of all time. Not fair! He really doesn't need this right now when he _is_ that close at his deathbed. 

_Ouch_ , he screams internally when his body slowly starts to inch away from the ground. That hurts like hell; it feels like he’s being ripped apart whole, with no meds of any kind.

“Sorry, but there’s no way I can do this without hurting you,” the voice says again, so apologetic and broken, that it makes Foggy want to believe there is actually someone there. Gosh, he has such a strong conscience. “I’ll get you out this, Foggy, I promise.”

_Hah, sure, conscience, you will. And I will wake up, wrapped in candy canes, snuggling up to Matt’s warm, comfy body._

He feels himself being lifted up gently _again_ ; fingers slowly prodding his body off the hard, wet, frozen, snow-filled ground.

As much as _nice_ and _real_ his conscience sounds and feels, it isn’t real, and he can feel his eyes closing in on him _permanently_. _It’s finally time,_ he decides, _his body has given up on him already, not that he blames it._

“Foggy, no, stay awake! C’mon, you can do it! _Please, please_ , Foggy, don’t die on me. I — I’ll treat you better. God, you can be as angry as you want at me, but you’ve to be alive to let me have it. _Please,_ I’ll be a better friend. I … I …” the voice breaks down at the end until it turns into small sobs. “I’ll take you out on a date, god, if you’ll let you, but please, you’ve to live for that to happen.”

Woah, that voice says everything he’d ever want in his wildest dreams, but of course it would; it is his conscience for god’s sake. What is he thinking? That Matt is there telling him all these nice things and being all teary and emotionally broken all _just_ for him? Please, Matt probably isn’t thinking anything has happened to him, not yet, anyway. He will but it’s too soon for that right now.

Regardless of what Matt is going through, he’s a good friend. Always has been to Foggy. Never leaves him standing in quicksand. Always there to pull him of any sticky situations he may find himself in. Never telling Foggy things that he _wants_ to hear, but telling him things that he _needs_ to hear, and there is a big difference between those two. Gigantic. Matt … Matt is a good friend and Foggy is going to die believing that. That _will_ never change.

“Foggy, please, open those eyes. I’m _sorry_ I ignored you. I _shouldn’t_ have. I’m a terrible friend, I know. But please … _I never thought tha_ t you’d suffer for my mess. I’m so sorry.”

He feels cold lips pressing to his cheeks. He feels nothing. Being numb to the touch can do that to a guy. Or, you know, an imaginary friend, in the form of a dream-filled and _too_ hopeful of a conscience, which he is dealing with, can also do that. There’s that: the harsh reality and it _doesn’t_ get sweeter than that. 

Oh, what a Christmas’s nightmare!

“This is all my fault,” the voice says brokenly and gets dangerously low. He can imagine Matt punching a wall, as his world crumbles beneath his very own eyes. Which it won’t _because_ this is Foggy’s conscience speaking to him. “If I haven’t put on that mask … I can’t change that now, I know, but I could have saved you from ever going through anything like this. If I hadn’t went and done what I did, you won’t have to struggle to survive like this now. You won’t be in so much pain. No one I ever loved would had to suffer.”

What? His thoughts _get_ so scattered. What? His conscience _is_ so weird. Why’d it suggest that, Matt, his blind, hot best friend, puts on a mask? A blind guy _can_ never do what the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen does. It’s _just_ not possible. That guy is seriously skilled, like olympic-level-skilled. 

Matt isn’t really. 

Sure, Matt can throw a punch or two, and maybe even throw Foggy against a moving bus, not that that has ever happened before. It hasn’t. 

Still Matt is blind. He’s also this charming, sweet, kind, can’t-hurt-a-fly kind of guy whom Foggy is madly and crazily in love with. That Matt can never do the things that the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen do — it won’t sit right with him. If anything, it’d eat him up on the inside, like really bad until he can’t function normally, without destroying himself in the process. Matt would never put himself through that; he has went through lots of crap already to do something stupid like that.

He can understand Matt’s sudden confession of his love for Foggy (it’s his frickin’ conscience, after all!) but Matt being the Devil’s of Hell’s Kitchen … _just no_. 

“I should have _think_ —” He hears laughing mixed with sobbing. “But I didn’t. I thought I could dish out justice and live a normal life. And by being in a mask that no one I _love_ would get hurt. I was _wrong._ Deadly wrong _. I’m sorry for that_. You didn’t have to suffer for my mistakes. But you did and you’re _going_ to live through this. I will _make_ _sure_ of _that._ ”

What mistakes? Come on, he has one heck of a weird conscience; Matthew Murdock is _most_ certainly _not_ the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen. So, his mind is just thinking up of the most asinine scenarios. Really.

_Awe, conscience of mine, please stop being so weird!_

He gets pressed between a warm chest and it’s so, oh, so, heavenly that he never wants to be removed from that warmth. It feels so good, so perfect, and, oh, so right.

“Foggy,” the voice says against his _brutally_ cold cheeks. “I can’t lose you. Please _stay_ with me. You have gotta to … _you have to!_ I can’t live without you in my life. Please _don’t_ _fall_ asleep on me. You _are_ everything to me. I _need_ you.”

Oh, gosh, will it ever shut up, this conscience of his? It’s really starting to sound a whole lot like Matt. Is it _even_ possible that it’s not his conscience _confining_ in him, but Matt? Hah, yeah, no, Matt’s probably in his apartment, sulking, because that’s all he does now. He could be at Josie’s or some bar, drowning himself in the sweet comfort of alcohol, but Foggy seriously doubts that.

Matt isn’t the type to drink his problems away. He will probably indulge in some hot, steamy, messy sex than drink, anyway. 

Yeah, that’s more like the Matt he loves and knows; the guy who can solve anything with sex and his insanely good looks. It sucks that for a blind guy he’s so hot, and Foggy, well, he _doesn’t_ have killer abs, or anything like that. He _isn’t_ even that smooth with the ladies or men. His humor, though, that is golden and all his.

He has scored a date or two with that impeccable humor of his. So, yeah, his humor is off the charts, because his dates were super hot, maybe not too nice, but hotness doesn’t guarantee niceness. Except for Marci, maybe, she is still kind of nice, he hopes.

He gets pulled out of his thoughts when he feels himself _finally_ be lifted off the cold groundWhat a relief — it really isn’t — he still burns all over. And, hey, his chest finally gets covered, with a soft, warm coat. Man, his conscience is sure imaginative (okay, it’s just his body way of heating up naturally).

His chest is pressed up nicely against that warmth he craves for, and his arms are wrapped tightly against that _pretty_ neck of Matt’s. 

He always wanted to feel Matt’s neck, like really examine it, but how weird would it be to have your friend feeling you up? 

_Really weird._

It feels nice to have his hands around _fake_ Matt’s neck. 

“Hey,” he tries, ignoring the new batch of fresh, killer pain that comes from opening his lips, “I always wanted to do this. Wrap my hands around your neck, you know, but I couldn’t, because friends _don’t_ do that. Well, friends _might_ do that, but not us, we are _definitely_ not those kind of friends.”

“Foggy!” he hears a deep sigh of relief and some light-hearted chuckles. “You _aren’t_ dead.” He gets pressed against fake Matt’s chest _again,_ tighter this time, and then covered in another soft, leather coat, with Matt’s — _his conscience’s,_ or whoever’s, whatever’s — arms wrapped protectively against his frozen body. “You _are_ really not dead!

Of course, he isn’t dead _yet_. Stupid conscience can’t figure that out. _Course, it can’t_ , he thinks, desperately hoping that the ‘fake’ warmth can take the coldness away. It doesn’t. It’s _his_ conscience, of course it can’t do that. It just loves to give him false hope and weird thoughts of Matt being the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen.

Oh, gosh, he can imagine Matt running around Hell’s Kitchen in those _godawful_ black rags, sneaking up on unsuspected mobsters and criminals and whatevs. Nah, Matt can never do that; he will so get his ass handed to him.

A strong gush of wind blows over him and he finds himself burying his face in _fake_ Matt’s neck. It’s so comfy. He swears _if_ he could smell, it would smell just like Matt’s: a refreshing scent of cinnamon, cheap alcohol, and darkness. 

The wind blows over him again. Winter really doesn’t like him at all, it seems, which is so not fair.

He never hates the cold as strongly as he does right now. And he likes to think of himself as more of a ‘winter-y’ guy. Too bad, winter isn’t being his friend. Too bad, indeed! Winter should want to be his friend. Who _doesn’t_ want to be Foggy Nelson’s friend? He’s sweet and so frickin’ awesome. 

He shivers uncontrollably the next time the wind hits him. Fake warmth and comfort isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. He really hates his conscience right now for giving false hope.

He feels a gloved hand resting on his forehead. “Stay with me for a while longer,” _fake_ Matt says, holding Foggy’s body closer to his chest, and then, he could swear fake Matt _is_ jumping over buildings. That’s so weird. “ _Stay_ with me. Just for a few _more_ minutes. _Please._ That’s all I need. _Please_ , can you do that for me, Foggy?”

Oh, god, his conscience is so frickin’ weird. Instead of taking him to a nice warm climate, it’s giving him the impression that _fake_ Matt _is_ jumping over buildings while carrying him. Matt who has been blind ever since childhood! That’s so insane.

Man, can’t he dream of normal stuff like _sweet, sweet_ romantic bliss with Matt? Apparently not. His brain is super weird like that.

Matt comes to a halt and Foggy almost feels himself sliding off probably to the fake ground in his dream. Then, hands hold him close, very _tightly_ , almost suffocating him. Gosh, who’d have thought that _dreams_ can feel this real, this lucid?

“Hey, I got you. I’ll always get you.” There is that voice again. This time, it sounds shallow, and he can hear sharp intakes. Huh, weird. “You ready?”

Ready for what? _Oh,_ he remembers, _that safe place where he can ‘recover.’_ Right, as if _that_ is even possible. Only in his mind, it is.

“Okay, here goes nothing.”

Somehow, some weird reasoning of his, he prepares himself mentally for flying through the air, and landing on the ground effortlessly, like he has seen in the movies so many times.

_Conscience, dream, fake reality, whatever this is,_ be damned.

He opens his eyes, slowly, and god, does it hurt unlike anything he has ever experienced before. It takes a while before he adjusts his eyes to the lights, and, oh, are they bright like shiny, flashy, all-decked-out Christmas lights. Weird because nothing in Hell’s Kitchen is _ever_ this bright or festive.

“Foggy!” He gets enclosed in another tight embrace. “You’re awake.”

Will you look at that, he still isn’t fully awake, because _fake_ Matt is still there.

His eyes feel so heavy, tired, and tight.

“Foggy, stay with me! Don’t fall asleep on me!” Matt begins to panic, shaking him frantically. “ _Fuck!_ C’mon, Foggy!” Matt runs his hands through his hair, and would you look at that, it has pretty snowflakes in it. So pretty. His hair looks like a winter wonderland. He then pulls and tugs at his pretty hair hard. “Please, you’ve survived this long … you _can’t_ just give up _now!_ ” he chokes out in a broken, defeated, and worn-out voice. “ _Please, please_ … I know I’m being selfish, but you _can’t_ die on me. Not now. _Please_.”

He just wants to shut them closed again. So, he does that. It’s too goddamn hard to keep them open. Fake Matt’s worries really get to him; it’s like _Matt_ is actually there. He isn’t though. And, he is so exhausted, and he hurts all over so badly, and staying awake is just not cutting it anymore. Hasn’t been for a while.

“ _Foggy …. no, Foggy, please!_ ”

_Pretty voice._ Matt’s voice is so pretty. Too bad Matt isn’t even there with him when he’s dying. He’d love to hear that voice _again._ But he can’t, so he will take fake Matt’s voice over no Matt at all.

“I guess this is how I go. Huh. No _t exactly_ how I pictured it,” he says quietly to no one else but himself. “I guess this _is_ it _then_ , huh?.” 

That sounds _so_ weird to say, and even weirder to admit.

“Foggy … _no!_ … _I won’t let you!_ ”

_There is nothing you can do, awesome conscience of mine._ _This is actually happening._ And he lets the darkness take over his mind completely, ignoring that little voice in his head that keeps on saying, _“Foggy, no!”_

Because what else can he do?

“Foggy, hey, Foggy!”

Gosh, he is nursing one heck of a headache. What happened— _oh, right_ , that incident where some very scary, not so good-looking mobsters approach him, and leave him to die in the snow. Oh, and where he meets his oh, so, annoying conscience.

Oh, what a Christmas’ disaster!

A tremble goes through his body and he finds himself shaking uncontrollably. _Calm yourself down, Foggy_ , he warns himself, but it does nothing. He feels so cold, so exhausted, and so _sick._

God, this is so much worser than any hangover he has been through, and he has went through plenty. Drinking at Josie’s can leave quite the mark.

“It’s okay, alright? I’m here with you.” He gets enclosed in a big, warm hug. “You’re safe. You’ll never have to go through anything like that again. I promise you that.”

_Matt?_

Go through what? Being buried in the snow? Being _almost_ frozen to death? Because that _is_ no fun. Hey, at least, he isn’t beaten to a pulp, or shot at, so that’s a good thing. Probably. Though, come to think about it, he _much_ rather be shot at, stabbed at, or even get beaten than ever go through that _again._

Recovery is going to a long, slow and painful road ahead. That’s going to be _so_ much fun when it arrives. Foggy is definitely looking forward to that. He _isn’t._

He croaks an eye open and, oh, is it bright. He is almost blinded for half a second there. He allows himself to get familiarized with the light before he scrutinizes his surroundings. And Matt, too. Especially Matt.

Because there _is_ no way that Matt, the love of his life, his right man, his BFF, finds him in that, _wherever_ he had been. And Matt definitely _does not_ jump over buildings like a frickin’ vigilante, right? 

No way in hell. That’s _so_ not possible. Foggy would have to _stop_ pining over Matt before that can ever happen. That is _so_ not going to happen, though, so it all remains a big sack of weirdness topped with more weirdness.

Gosh, he had a pretty crazy dream, which wants to roll over into his life. So not cool!

It doesn't matter how _into_ his dream he was, or how much it seems to want to fit in into his life. Matt _is_ most likely here with him and that’s all that matters.

Foggy opens both his eyes and it takes everything in him to not burry his face in his pillows. The light is so frickin’ blinding. 

“Take it easy, okay?” Matt places an arm under his head and takes a step back when he gently settles Foggy’s head back on the pillows. “You nearly died. That’s going to take a while to recover from.” 

“Matt?” he croaks, and god, does he really sound like that! He sounds like a frog, without all of the ribbiting. “Is that _really_ you? Because if I’m dreaming, man, I don’t want to deal with that _awful_ conscience of mine.”

God, his conscience has been the weirdest part out of all of this.

Matt smiles at him; one of his charming smiles that makes Foggy melts. “It’s me, Foggy. I’m here.”

“Good, good, that’s good,” he says but then gets a little anxious. What if it’s still his conscience because that thing can be pretty vivid? “C’mere, I’m gonna pinch you ‘coz I need to be sure.”

Matt steps closer to the bed and looks at him, as if he is crazy, which he is probably is. But can you blame him? “Okay.” Matt chuckles. “Is this alright with you?” he asks when he is near the bed.

Foggy tries to reach out, but hey, his arms is lined up with all these tubes.

“Come a little closer.” 

Gosh, his throat is so dry, and he feels like a frickin’ frog. Maybe he should start ribbiting. How awesome will that be! That’d be a nightmare unlike Disney’s Princess and the Frog. That he wouldn't mind doing. Prancing around with Matt as frogs discovering love in the swampiest part in New Orleans, that’d be the life. Too bad, that _isn’t_ life.

Matt steps closer, smoothes the sheets over, and takes a seat. “Hey, don’t do that!”

Foggy stares at Matt and sighs. “These things… I _don’t_ like them.” He wiggles his hands to show the IV in his veins. “Man, I just want to take them out.”

“You can’t!” Matt warns him.

“Fine, c’mere. My hands are a little too short to reach your face, you know.” He wiggles his hands again. “Especially with these things in ‘my’ veins.”

Matt laughs and leans toward him until their foreheads are pressed against each other. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, that will do.” Foggy reaches out to pinch Matt on his cheeks, but, oh, his arm feels heavy and numb, like it’s made of lead. Stupid painkillers! Man, he must be stuffed with painkillers. “Just give me a minute.”

He tries to work out the kinks in his hands. It makes no difference. His arms are dead, as dead as can be.

“A few more minutes. Man, I really hate these things!”

Matt places his palm face-down on his shoulders. “You’ll be fine. Those _things_ are keeping you alive.”

“I hate them.” He really does. They’re draining the life out of him. “Man, what’d I do for hot chocolate right now!”

“Foggy,” Matt says in his ever-so tiresome voice.

“I know. Can’t drink hot chocolate. It’s Christmas. Who doesn’t drink hot chocolate on Christmas!”

“I didn't.”

Foggy sighs. He should have known that. Matt is such a party-popper.

He starts to work on his hands again because he still doesn’t buy that Matt is actually there. How could he? Last night — his brain is all scrambled up right now.

Finally, he starts to get some movement in his arms after a good five minutes or so.

“Okay, this is _going_ to hurt. A lot. Or not. If you’re a figment of my imagination.”

Matt just smiles at him. So stunningly beautiful. Never questioning him about his ‘so called’ conscience.

With a great amount of soul-sucking pain, he lifts his hand up, and touches Matt’s face. His hand lingers there for a minute longer than needed before he actually pinches Matt’s face. Matt flinches back and rubs his cheeks absentmindedly.

“ _Fuck_ , that hurts! You still got it,” Matt says back proudly.

It makes Foggy’s heart melt, like popsicles under the smoldering summer heat.

Huh-uh, he does. So, that means Matt is really here with him. Okay, it still doesn’t mean _that_ Matt is the one who found him and brought him here. Because that’s insane. But then how did he exactly get here, then?

“So, you’re real?” He swallows. Gosh, his throat is frickin’ dry, worse than a desert in the day, and a dessert goes all the way up to solid 110 temp in the day. “Man, that’s really good to know. I thought for sure I was losing my mind.”

Matt arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, do you remember anything?”

Foggy laughs. “Yeah, little bits and pieces here and there. But nothing that makes any sense. Because you _were_ kind of the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen and you said all these things — _things_ that you normally won’t say. Isn’t that crazy?” He laughs again.

Matt gulps nervously. If it’s just a hallucination, then why does Matt look like he has just been struck by lighting? That makes no sense. He has got to be missing something. God, can this day get any worse!

“That really happened,” Matt says so quietly that Foggy almost doesn’t hear him. “I meant all those things I said.”

What? No, that can’t be real. God, he needs a drink, stronger than anything Josie serves. He wants to bolt out of the room, but he’s _too_ tired to do that. Matt can’t be the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt can’t have meant that he _loves_ Foggy … no, he can’t mean any of those things!

“Foggy?” Matt says gently to him, as he takes a seat next to Foggy on the small, plain, godawful hospital bed. “I’m sorry that you had to find out this way. You weren’t supposed to—”

“Were you ever going to tell me about your double-life,” Foggy replies quietly, so quiet that it sounds quieter than a mouse squeaking. He’s too tired to argue with Matt, now. And what the heck is he supposed to think about his blind crime-fighting friend now?

“No,” Matt replies firmly, “I couldn’t, wouldn’t let you get caught up in my mess of a life.”

Foggy sighs. 

He still doesn't believe that Matt and the Devil in Hell’s Kitchen are the same person. 

“Oh, I see.”

Matt’s eyes glimmer with hurt. “That’s not — I’m sorry, Foggy, but it’s for the best. _Was_ supposed to be.”

“Matt, it’s okay.” He rubs Matt’s shoulder reassuringly and god, does that hurt. “Really.”

“You — you’re not mad at me?” Matt gulps nervously. 

“Of course, I am. You lied to me, Matt, but, uh, it doesn’t matter.”

Because it _doesn’t._ Matt chooses to not tell Foggy all of these incredible things about himself. Yet, Foggy could understand why he chooses to leave him out of the loop. Foggy’d freak, like really bad, and that’d jeopardize their friendship.

“What are you saying, Foggy?” Matt’s voice trembles with uncertainty and confusion.

“Nothing, Matt, you saved my life.”

“If it wasn’t for me … you … you wouldn’t—” Matt takes Foggy’s hand into his own, caressing it, as it’s made of glass, easy to break, harder to replace. “None of this would have happened.”

“Not really. I still would have angered the ‘wrong’ crowd at some point. Man, it’s life, Matt. I don’t understand why you have to put on a mask to make a difference, but it’s your life, and if you feel like you’re helping, then who am I judge you?”

“Foggy—”

“It’s okay, Matt. I might not like what you’re doing, but you’re actually helping people. So, that’s good, I guess,” he tries for a happier tone for Matt’s sake because Matt’s hurting and it breaks Foggy’s heart.

“Foggy, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t had to—”

“Suffer. Yeah, yeah, I know, but it happened, and I won’t hold it against you.”

“Foggy, you mean so much more to me than anyone else in my life. I _can’t_ risk you being in constant danger because of my activities,” he struggles to get the words out, as if he’s going to suggest something bad, which he probably is. 

Foggy knows him too well.

“Matt, don’t beat yourself over this. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine. That’s all that matters.”

He wishes he could comfort Matt, but he’s _too_ weak to do that. It’s taking everything in him to actually have a conversation with Matt.

“Foggy, you don’t understand. You _can_ be targeted again. Because you _are_ my weakness. I just _can’t_ let that happen, and if that means ending our friendship, then I’ll do it.” 

Matt sounds so confident in his answer that Foggy believes he has actually thought this through, but he hadn’t said that last night.

“Who said anything about ending our beautiful foundation of awesomeness that I … _that_ we worked so hard to build together?” he adds cheerfully, filled on energy he doesn’t have in him.

“Foggy, you can’t be okay with being my friend.” Matt sounds so exhausted.

“I’ve been in love with you since I got you as my roommate. If I can survive through an unrequited love for as long as I did, I can survive through anything.”

Really, he could. And, so can Matt.

“Foggy, you don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“Matt, I love you. I’ll be fine, as long as you’re in my life.”

“Foggy—”

“Maybe, I was dreaming, but you said the same last night. It doesn’t matter anyway. I just us to go back to being old buddies. We’re good at being friends.”

“A week,” Matt corrects him.

“Huh?”

Really a week? No way has he missed a week of his life.

“It’s been a week since you’ve been here.”

“Oh, no wonder I feel like crap. Think they’d let me out?” he asks hopefully. He really wants to get out of here. Plus, Matt needs to stop being such a self-sacrificing hero. 

“Foggy, stop ignoring—” Matt pauses for a minute and sighs.“But it does matter, Foggy! You’ll be a black mark if you stay with me.”

A black mark? Huh? Matt _is_ so weird. Foggy has already been a shadow in Matt’s life, so what worse can being targeted do? Oh, right, being left to die in the snow. But still! It’s so much better than unrequited life, which Matt doesn’t explicitly address, as of yet.

“Then I’ll be that. So, what?”

“I can’t let that happen. I won’t! I’m not gonna lose you again like that. If I’ve to let you go, I will,” he finishes off brokenly and releases his hold on Foggy’s hand.

Matt is getting on his nerves. Superhero, vigilante, whatever Matt is; he needs to get some common sense beaten in him.

“Matt, for one minute, stop being a self-sacrificing hero. It doesn’t matter if I’m out of your life, which I’m so not going to be, you are stuck with me for good. Danger is always just going to lurking around the corner. It’s life, Matt. It doesn’t matter if there are aliens, super humans, or what haves, that was never going to change.”

It really isn’t. Life is a fragile thing. Hiding in a bubble isn’t going to change that for everyone. That’s not how it works.

“Foggy—” Matt starts to sob, quietly, but it’s there. “I can’t … seeing you living your last breath … it was too fuckin’ real, too fuckin’ hard. I thought I was going to lose you. I … I don’t want to go through that. I love you and I don’t want to see you ever again in pain.”

“And you won’t!” Foggy reassures him.

He never wants to go through anything like that ever again, too, if he can help it.

“You don’t know that!” Matt protests. And he is right. So, what, Foggy is going to take his chances, however small they may be.

“You’re right. I don’t.” He’d rather take the risks of having Matt in his life than ever being sorry for letting Matt slip away from him. “But I won’t let you throw our friendship like that. And beside, you owe me a date. You promised to take me out on a date.”

“Foggy—”

Matt can’t convince him otherwise. He’s just not ready to let Matt go. He can’t. He’s not strong enough to do that.

“When I get out of here, and man, I hope soon, because hospital food is the absolute worse.” God, he has heard stories about it, and not the good kind. “You’re going to take me somewhere nice and we’re going to eat, like it’s the end of the world.”

Yeah, they are going to do that, because why the heck not?

“What if you get hurt again? Or what I betray your trust? What if I’m not there for you when you need me?” Matt stumbles on his words; throwing all these what-ifs’ scenarios out.

“Then we will deal with it, okay?” Foggy smiles. They will. They are Foggy and Matt. Together, they can do anything.

“But—”

“It’ll be fine,” Foggy says firmly and surely. He isn’t but Matt needs that right now.

“I don’t know—”

“We’ll be fine, Matt. Together, we can overcome anything.”

They really can.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Matt nods and then gets into bed next to him, wrapping an arm around his mid-section. The nurses are so not going to like that. But who cares? Foggy has been dreaming about this like forever. He smiles contently against Matt’s warm, comfy chest.

Oh, what a Christmas' miracle!

Sure, Matt still looks so unsure and hopeless about their future, whatever that may be, but Foggy is going to change that. Gosh, he doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with all of this, but he is going to find a way.

There’s always a way. In time, it _will_ reveal itself.

Foggy keeps his eyes open and waits for the next chapter of his life to begin. It _isn’t_ going to be the love fest he wants it to be, but as long as he is with Matt, everything will be absolutely perfect.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://neenabthurman.tumblr.com)


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